


Of Gondolin, civilisation and sweets

by JaneSpeedwell



Series: Tales from the Ivory Tower [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elf Culture & Customs, Gen, Gondolin, One Shot, Yáviérë
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 04:08:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20687252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneSpeedwell/pseuds/JaneSpeedwell
Summary: Pengolodh tries to teach Eärendil about Civilisation, but Eärendil is more interested in sweets.





	Of Gondolin, civilisation and sweets

‘Do you know what day it is today?’ asked Pengolodh.

Eärendil shook his head with the forlorn air of a child who did not much want to be in lessons on such a beautiful day.

‘Today is Yáviérë. What do you think that is?’

‘Don't know'.

Pengolodh sighed.

'Let's try to work it out by breaking the word into its different parts. You start'.

'Yá-vi-ë-ré. Is that like yávië, and ré, put together? Autumn-day?'

'Very good! But mind your _tehtar_: it is Yáviérë, not Yáviëré. Now, what makes this day different to any other autumn day? Why do you think your grandfather is planning festivities tonight?’

Eärendil perked up a little at this. He did not totally understand the concept of “festivities”, but he knew they were good things, and vaguely associated them with games and sweets. He said as much to Pengolodh.

‘Ai, Eärendil! Yáviérë is not about sweets. It is a festival to celebrate Yavanna and her harvest bounty. Just as the Festival of the Hammer of Wrath honours Aulë, and Súlimë is a time for the Gondolindrim to pay homage to Manwë’.

‘Súlimë is boring. There's never anything nice to eat, and I have to sit still with hours when I want to play with my friends’.

Pengolodh’s mouth twitched.

‘Súlimë is an ancient and solemn festival which you should hold in reverence. It is the oldest festival of the Eldar, save Yáviérë alone’.

‘What about the forest tribes you told me about yesterday? Don’t they have their own festivals that are even older?’

‘I hardly know’, sniffed Pengolodh. ‘The Nandor are said to have ceremonies of their own, and I daresay our common ancestors would have practiced similar rites. But Yáviérë is the oldest civilised festival’.

‘What’s “civilised”, and why aren’t Nandor festivals civilised?’

‘Well, Eärendil, to be civilised is to have reached a more advanced stage of development. When elves first awakened, we lived a rude and rustic life, foraging for berries and sleeping under the stars. Over time, we gained knowledge and learned many arts - music, painting, building, weaving and poetry. We became civilised. Gondolin now undeniably stands at the apex of civilisation in Beleriand, and even rivals the civilisation to be found in Aman. This is because we live in beautiful stone houses, we craft things for the sake of their beauty, and we cultivate the arts and scholarship. We have a well-equipped, well-trained army. We have organised systems that enable the city to function with many people living in close proximity. Indeed, your mother has been instrumental in many improvement projects since the city’s foundation. All this makes us more civilised than the Nandor who live in trees, hunt with spears, and decorate their bodies with paint. Although', he added magnanimously, they are still our brothers and sisters, and no doubt their art has a certain wild beauty to it’.

‘Do children in the forest tribes have tutors?’

‘Probably not’.

‘Then I wish I could go and live in the forest!’

‘I don’t doubt it; but you live in Gondolin, and right now you need to recap today’s lesson. We will finish for the day after you have recited your family tree on the elven side, starting with your great-grandfather Finwë. It is fitting that you should know your own royal ancestry’.

Eärendil heaved an exaggerated sigh, but started rattling off the names readily enough.

‘Well, first there was great-grandfather Finwë. He was very brave, and very noble, and very wise. And he was very old, because he was born beside a big lake in the east of Beleriand’.

‘The east of Arda’, corrected Pengolodh. ‘The earth extends far to the east of Beleriand, many thousands of miles, and maybe more’.

‘Oh’. Eärendil, who had never been more than ten miles east of the city, looked nonplussed. ‘Well anyway, he was very old, and he had three children with two different wives’.

‘Four children. We mustn’t forget Findis just because she was a woman’.

‘Alright, Finwë had four children. Findis, and Fëanáro, and Arafinwë, and my grandfather Nolofinwë’. Eärendil puffed out his chest just a little as he continued. ‘My grandfather Nolofinwë was even braver and wiser and nobler than Finwë’.

‘Well, that’s we call subjective judgment’.

‘He was! He wasn’t silly enough to get married twice, and none of his children were nasty thieving kinslayers, like Fëa-’

‘That’s quite enough!’ cried Pengolodh, alarmed. ‘You must not say such things. It is true that Fëanor was a very controversial historical figure, but-’

‘But you said it yourself! I heard you talking to Meleth once, and you called my great-uncle Fëanáro a nasty thieving kinslayer’.

‘Ah - yes, well - I did not mean it. You must not say such things about your ancestors, and especially not to your grandfather. He does not like Fëanor, but would not approve of hearing him described in such immoderate terms. And you should not know about any sort of kinslaying at your age’.

Suddenly there was a loud halloo-ing from the garden path, and Salgant heaved into view, puffing in the heat of the day.

‘What! Master Pengolodh, are you keeping Eärendil at his lessons on a feast day? I shall have to tell his parents you are working the boy too hard’.

‘Salgant!’

Eärendil jumped up, knocking his books to the ground, ran to Salgant and buried his face in that elf’s capacious midriff.

‘There, there, my boy’. Salgant shooed Eärendil away but was unable to hide his smile. ‘No need to ruffle this very fine tunic of mine’.

‘Salgant’, cried Eärendil, ‘are you also going to be at the Yáviérë festivities today? Did you know they are held to honour Yavanna?’

Salgant’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that so? I am much obliged to you for telling me. I will be able to show off my knowledge to all my friends when they visit me this evening. Of course, I will also be showing off the best sweetmeats in the city’. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone. ‘I tell you what, Eärendil - if Pengolodh will let you go, we can go and sample all the sweetmeats before the feast. There are spiced ginger cakes, and candied fruits, and warm blackberry pies, and the best rose syllabub you will ever taste…’


End file.
